Sunday, August 28, 2005

Cop Poem

Police men have a way of dividing the world in halfwith every hour they walkthe beat or grind it as they drive,

It’s about who they willor will not put in jail,

Whose nose is arched like bridges spanningskylines over grievous watersor flat and elegant as a small pocketon streamlined suit,

It’s about where they can parkwhen there’s nothing buttrouble on the radio,or where they have todrive away from whenthe street comes up short onbricks that were there the day beforeand ugliness was an old housejunkies live in and notthe crowd that gathers on the cornersand will not stop glaringuntil the glares become sharp sticks,iron pipes, broken bits,